


Revenge Woes

by Quiet_Shadow



Series: The Woes Series [17]
Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Despair, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hand Jobs, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Multi, Past Relationship(s), Porn Video, Relationship(s), Revenge, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, revenge porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22050400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: “You should have gone offline.”Sentinel really shouldn't have said that to the femme who once answered to the name of Elita One, because when it comes to revenge, Blackarachnia has a lot ofinteresting materialat her disposition.Who knew keeping those old homemade porn vids would end up being useful?(And if Optimus is featured in a couple of them too, well, it's not like he's innocent either, is he?)
Relationships: Elita One/Optimus Prime/Sentinel Prime, Optimus Prime/Sentinel Prime
Series: The Woes Series [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/42909
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	Revenge Woes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Stroking The Flame](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20653469) by [Quiet_Shadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow). 



_"Okay, okay, I get it! It's bad, but it's not that bad, all right?!"_

_"No. It's worse. You should have gone offline."_

_“You're not Elita-1, you mutant freak. Elita-1 went offline a long time ago.” ___

__The datapad shattered against the wall as Blackarachnia seethed, fangs bared as the sentences resonated under her helm. She should stop throwing things around, she knew that; she had precious little material at her disposition already and randomly destroying it in a fit of temper wouldn’t help her. Normally, she was more controlled than that but, well…_ _

___“You should have gone offline.”_ _ _

__Given the circumstances, she supposed she could be excused, couldn’t it?_ _

__It wasn’t everyday your former boyfriend learned you were alive, decided you were an hideous monster, an abomination that had no business existing and tried to take you offline – and that despite having supposedly mourned your supposed passing for stellar cycles._ _

__Typical Sentinel, that. She wondered why she was so surprised – why it actually _hurt_ to have him react this way. Even Optimus’ initial reaction hadn’t hurt that much. But then again, Optimus had wallowed in guilt from the moment she had revealed herself and while he had stopped her fro finding a cure again and again, he had never sounded like he believed her beyond redemption._ _

__Optimus was a selfless idiot; Sentinel was a selfish one._ _

__“Fraggers, the two of them,” she muttered testily as she crouched to gather the remains of the pad – hopefully there was still something to save among the pieces._ _

__Why had she allowed herself to fall for the pair of them, all those vorns ago? Without them, she would have never been…_ _

__Her fist tightened by reflex, crushing several pieces anew and she winced. Great, just great. If anything had still been in working order before, then it was definitely busted now. With a sigh, she got back to her feet and walked toward her workbench and the tool boxes she had set asides earlier; hopefully there’d be something usable inside, either to repair or replace what she had damaged._ _

___“You should have gone offline.”_ _ _

__So typical of Sentinel. She wasn’t even sure why she was surprised; even before Archa Seven, Sentinel hadn’t been fond of anything organic. Apparently, rumors on the Decepticon grapevine were true and he was an even bigger xenophobe than he once was. It was such a surprise that Optimus hadn’t followed suit – but then again, Optimus had always had a level-head about him neither Sentinel nor Elita One had had back then._ _

__Blackarachnia liked to think she was different. More evolved. Changed._ _

__But they had all changed, hadn’t they?_ _

__Funny how things went. She was a pariah, willingly serving the Decepticons and helping their cause and their scientist progress while searching for a cure to her freakishness, feeling no remorse over it. Optimus was all but exiled from Cybertron, commandeering a ragtag group of Maintenance ‘bots, the lowest echelon in the Autobot hierarchy despite his title of Prime, and was practically stranded on an organic planet in the middle of nowhere. And Sentinel was Ultra Magnus’ right hand mech, sub-commander of the Elite Guard and the most likely candidate to replace old Ultra when the mech finally decided to step down._ _

__Good to know at least one of them had gotten somewhere in life, the femme thought with bitterness._ _

__What sort of justice was that? In a world even remotely fair, Sentinel would have suffered like she did for getting her to that horrible planet to begin with (like Optimus was suffering, for a value of suffering; at least he seemed to have good mechs to watch his back and to have found some sort of equilibrium. She was vaguely jealous of him for that)._ _

__Sentinel should have gotten demoted too. Thrown out of the Academy like Optimus – and yes, she knew Optimus had gotten ejected over their little escapade and her supposed ‘death’; the good thing about having infiltrated Agents among the Autobots was that you could easily request a copy of the personnel files._ _

__Optimus had been punished for his part in her mutation. Sentinel… Sentinel had not suffered nearly enough to make up for what he did._ _

___“You should have gone offline.”_ _ _

__And she wasn’t certain he ever would, Blackarachnia decided with a snarl._ _

__Prim and proper Sentinel, she thought distastefully. Oh, he had good looks, very good looks even; she had fallen for him first just for that. Broad shoulders, strong arms, long legs, and an aft she had loved to tap. The strong jaw hadn’t been a turnoff either, because it gave him personality – or at least that was how Elita One saw it back then. The fact he had been head over heels for her hadn’t hurt. Sentinel had been enthusiast, vibrant, with just the right amount of disregards for rules that the budding rebel for a young, a bit snobbish and innocent Elita to latch on. Sentinel had had potential, everybody agreed about that, even Kup Minor, their old drill sergeant._ _

__Elita hadn’t been crazily in love, but it was hard to deny she had been smitten. Especially after she had realized how wrapped around her fingers the big blue mech was. They had been some sort of power couple among Cadets, the ones who were destined to succeed. The future generation of Autobot leaders. Sentinel, Elita… and Optimus._ _

__Smart and rules-sticker, that had been Elita first assessing of the red and blue mech who hung around Sentinel, always looking too serious for his own good – except when Sentinel patted him on the back and told him a stupid joke or offered him a cube. Optimus’ smiles had always seemed too serious back then, as if the mech didn’t really know how to laugh or have fun. Excellent tactical scores and a record breaker in the simulators, too – one which had gathered Ultra Magnus’ interest, and that wasn’t easy._ _

__Between those two mechs, a femme’s Spark would have balanced. Not Elita’s. The moment she had realized the two mechs she was watching from afar were an item, it had been all naturally she had walked over and asked if they wanted a third._ _

__And just like that, they had become a threesome._ _

__Mostly because Sentinel had wanted to, if she was honest about it. For all he was fragging his pal behind closed door, Sentinel had never made a secret of the fact he preferred his berth partners to be smaller than him, with a preference for the femme shell. It made his affair with Optimus even more surprising when you knew about it._ _

__For his part, Optimus had been more reserved about the whole thing, though not against it either. He had never cared much for looks, preferring personalities over aesthetical._ _

__Maybe that was why he had agreed to a threesome. For all he liked Sentinel, the other mech could be irritating when he got smug._ _

__Sentinel and Optimus hadn’t been in love, for all they had hopped in each other berth regularly. There had a connection, a level of mental intimacy missing in their relationship, perhaps due to their own nature. Sentinel enjoyed passionate relationship; Optimus preferred quieter ones. They had liked and probably still liked each other looks, they had been able to deal with each other’s personality and quirks, but there had been something missing. Something or someone who could stop them from rubbing each other the wrong way, even accidentally, someone to smooth the angles and act like a bridge between their respective temper._ _

__Perhaps they had thought Elita One was the answer._ _

__And perhaps she had been, once upon a time._ _

__Today…_ _

__Well, today, she had the feeling all of them were broken, in their own special way. Even Sentinel, for all he was bombastic and prideful and a rust-infested scraplet she’d enjoy dragging down the next time she’d see him._ _

__But being broken wasn’t enough, Blackarachnia thought viciously as she rummaged through a box. If there was a justice, Sentinel should be _shattered_ , everything he had managed to build in his life reduced to pieces and tatters, his reputation utterly sunk, with his dreams of being Magnus (the dream of his lifetime) completely crushed with no hope of resuscitation._ _

__Then perhaps she’d feel better._ _

__But that was just a dream, Blackarachnia thought morosely._ _

__One thing you could say about Sentinel, it was that he was prudent when it came to his image. Sure, his glossa occasionally put him in trouble because he didn’t always think before speaking (one just had to check the report on the incident with the Caminus delegation to know how much), but those were isolated incident. Sentinel knew how to look good for the journalists. When someone wrote or rechecked his speeches to eliminate some of his overbearing smugness, he could even inspire trust in the masses. And don’t make her speak about how much the big-chinned idiot had mastered the art of looking good for the camera! Seriously, how long had he spent… training himself… in front of his mirror to… always look like…?_ _

__Wait._ _

_Cameras._

__Her four optics narrowed and widened in thought as a wicked smile started to spread on her face._ _

__Sentinel had always loved the cameras – especially when it had been one of his close ‘pals’ filming. Optimus had been shyer, but he was featured in a couple of them too._ _

__She didn’t know what they had done of their own copies – destroyed them, probably._ _

__But she had kept her owns and still had them in her possession even now, stashed in a cache on her small ship. She had never deleted them, despite being tempted to several times. After all, she now hated the two mechs on them with passion, didn’t she? But a femme had needs and her growing hatred and disgust toward her old friends’ asides, those were perfectly functionary pictures._ _

__Such a shame they weren’t more known, especially the ones about Sentinel. Surely, masterpieces like those would find connoisseurs if she spread them around?_ _

__Letting the broken components and the tools on the bench, she hurried out of her little workshop, almost bouncing with giddiness._ _

__It would be the perfect revenge on a mech as prideful as dear Sentinel. A revenge that would leave him reeling from the shock – and gain ‘celebrity’ in a whole new way._ _

___“You should have gone offline.”_ _ _

__“Oh, Sentinel darling,” she drawled for herself. “You have no idea how right you were, for your sake.”_ _

____

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

When Jazz would be asked later, his defense would boil down to:

Eh, everybot need a hobby, my mech!

And it wasn’t as if he had been doing anything illegal, really. If he had been on duty, sure, perhaps it could have been a tiny bit reprehensive. However, his current shift had been over for a cycle and the next wouldn’t start before three megacycles, which had left him with plenty of time to, uh, ‘enjoy himself in a very adult way’.

(That was at least how Prowl was left trying to delicately explain to Sari, ever so curious about her robot friends, what Jazz had been up to, without traumatizing her in the process because he _just_ KNEW that human children should never be exposed to anything relating to interfacing. To say Professor Sumdac hadn’t been impressed when he caught on halfway through was an understatement.)

(Neither of them should have worried; as Sari pointed out later, she had grown up with easy access to computer and Internet and her dad’s parental filters had been a joke to break through. Of course she knew what porn was – and she also repeated a couple of gross terms she had learnt to emphasize the point.)

(Professor Sumdac was even less impressed; Sari was officially grounded – and the parental filters were upgraded by very concerned Cybertronians who didn’t want a protoform to get corrupted early on.)

(Which was a lost cause anyway, because it was Sari they were talking about. But it was another matter entirely.)

Anyway, Jazz had been minding his own business on his private time. Sure, perhaps he could have done something else, like offer to spar with Optimus’ ninja teammate, see how far along he was in his training and give him pointers (which he really intended to do at some point because eh, fellow Cyberninja! There was a kinship here he totally respected). But Prowl had been on patrol duty, so the idea had been nixed fast.

(Which came as a surprise to Prowl, because Optimus seldom imposed patrol duty on anyone anymore. Then again, they were having the Elite Guard’s ship parked in their backyard, so to speak; it was probably prompting their estimated leader into acting more ‘professional’.)

Prowl’s absence left Jazz at a conundrum; what to do with his free time if there was no one of interest to spend it with? No offense to Optimus Prime and the rest of his team, because they were great ‘bots, really, but it was kinda hard to hang out with them when Sentinel kept hovering about and making disparaging comments on their base, their habits, Optimus’ laxity, the organic infestation they were sure to carry and so on.

Ugh. Sentinel was not a big fun to begin with, what’s with his strict adherence to protocols and rules, but something about Earth or Optimus and his team seemed to rile him off even further.  


One could have hoped Sentinel would mellow after the whole day of crazy interfacing he and Optimus had both enjoyed in the absence of any witness but apparently, but no such luck. Asides of Sentinel not being able to look at Optimus in the optics for almost a human week straight without getting flustered, which was always something, he guessed (and it was definite proof some lovemaking had taken place, as Sentinel had gotten rid of all the evidence he could before they returned). And perhaps Sentinel’s comments were a tiny bit nicer too, at least when he was speaking face to face with Optimus.

Oh, well.

The point was, Jazz didn’t feel like socializing and getting sneered at for that. So that left him with few options; he hadn’t packed many bookfiles for the trip to recover Optimus’ team (which was apparently not going to happen if the bit about the Decepticons on Earth was true) nor many games, and he wasn’t in the mood for them anyway.

So that left him with… well, napping. Or, to quote Sentinel, ‘take his piston in his hands’ and have some fun.

Of course he would select the second option. Of course. He was a healthy mechanism in its prime (no, he wasn’t old! So what if he had participated in the War? Three quarters of Cybertron’s population had too!) and an overload or two would help with recharge soundly anyway. Plus, overloading was good for your systems, everybody knew that.

Thus why, once the door of his room safely locked behind him to avoid intrusion, he sat at his desk, turned on his computer and started browsing over his favorite porn site.

Let’s face it: porn industry was a universal constant. No matter the species and no matter the planet, you’ll always find a market for sex-related industry, be it amateur or professional, legal or illegal.

Cybetron’s porn market was one of the most varied out there, if only because of the multiplicity of frame types and the kinks and preferences they generated. While you didn’t speak too much about it in good company (another universal constant, it seemed), it was hard to ignore the sheer number of forums, message boards, streaming sites and pictures archives scattered all over Autobots and Decepticons networks.

You had specific tastes? A quick research and you could find your very own paradise: RideAByke, PlowPlows, HotTrucks, Mini-Mini-Love,… They were just a drop of oil in the ocean. That said, you were better off keeping your research browser clean and look over your shoulder from time to time. Just because watching and downloading porn was legal didn’t mean the Autobot authorities weren’t watching over your shoulder with suspicion if you so happened to trigger their alarms for, say, consulting sites catering to cross-faction pairings.

(It should be pointed out that getting hot for Autobot/Decepticon action was not technically illegal, but only because there was no law against it – yet. Besides, everybody knew it was fiction turned by Neutrals who happened to be very good with make-up and prosthetics.)

(Mostly.)

(Amusingly enough – or perhaps not so much, because it would have made High Command very twitchy if they had known, Decepticons grunts really enjoyed Autobot porn and were actually at the forefront of the client base. They never triggered any alarms, however, because they accessed the sites in perfect legality, using Neutral relays to mask their signals and their locations.)

(Megatron would have scowled and condemned the practice himself, but given he was an occasional viewer too, well… Pot, kettle?)

Jazz himself wasn’t picky when it came to porn. Sure, he had a few squicks he avoided like Cosmic Rust, but generally speaking, he had no special preference when it came to frametypes or paintjobs. He could grab his spike and pump it to the sight of a pretty pink femme baring her valve for all to see and stroke herself and dig fingers in his valve and pants while watching a big, strong mech with a frame similar to Bulkhead play peek-a-boo on screen with his Spark and a couple of colorful veils.

Normally, he would have tracked down a few of his favs and just… let himself go for a bit.

Today, though, he was in the mood for something else. Something new. Perhaps he’d find another gem hidden in the flow, who knew? So it was perfectly naturally he clicked on the ‘Just In!’ button and started scrolling down.

As he has suspected, there were plenty of new videos in, some of which looked promising – or as promising as a short, typos-filled summary could be; the pictures and video captures were far nicer to look at.

Take that close-up of a nice-looking valve; plump lips were evenly parted, barring a hole that was already shimmering with a fine layer of lubricant, the faintly visible calipers ring looking tight as it waited for something hard and large to push past it and fill the valve beyond. Even the anterior node seemed like a treat, a dark blue spot that was visibly enlarged by the owner’s excitation and looked like it was begging to be touched. The video capture was cut a bit low, but one could still make out the shape of the spike above and see the first ring of biolights encircling the base of the shaft.

All in one, it looked lovely and Jazz felt a twinge of lust heat up his systems. Alright, seemed to him like he had found the perfect video to occupy his evening. **Big Mech Solo: Magic Fingers** , here he came!

After turning the monitor in the right direction, the Cyberninja hopped up to his berth and lied down with his legs parted, letting his panel snap open while remotely starting the video. The image was a bit shaky, denoting it was amateur made and not professional, but he didn’t care. Amateur was sometimes more, ah, ‘authentic’ than the stuff specialized studio made up.

The camera panned closer and closer to the valve, letting Jazz see the smallest details. Vents hitching, Jazz’s hand reached for his spike housing, thumb stroking the tip as it barely peeked out. Large fingers came on screen, parting the folds while a thumb came to rest atop the anterior node, hiding it from view. Then it moved, stroking the node from bottom to top as someone sighed heavily.

“Ooooh, slag…”

And Jazz, who had been in the process of tugging his spike out… froze. That _voice_ …

The camera panned backward, away from the array, exposing the thighs of the mech on screen as well as part of the pelvic plating. The black thighs were nothing special; plenty of mechs had them. At the most, one could say they were nicely rounded and that the coat of wax their owner had applied gave a very nice shine.

The pelvic plating though… Jazz _knew_ that shade of dark blue. He knew it very, very well. Sure, there were plenty of mechs and femmes on Cybertron who used that color, but if you coupled it with the voice…

No. No way. Had to be a coincidence, he chuckled nervously, though he crossed his thighs, good mood dimmed.

The fingers on the screen were working hard now, rolling the folds of the valve in-between them while now two thumbs were playing with the anterior nod, pressing it between them. Heavy panting resonated on the audio track. Lubricant beads were starting to gather out of the valve, immediately spread all over the mesh folds. A forefinger ventured inside before coming out, covered in fluid. Then it dug back in again, deeper, before withdrawing again. And again. And again, until the whole finger was in. Then a second started to press against the entry, slowly stretching the ring of calipers asides.

It was seriously hot and erotic and Jazz couldn’t bring himself to touch his own valve or spike because slag, that frame looked so _familiar_ , even from this angle and if he was right then…

The camera panned out again, revealing large forearms, just as dark blue as the pelvic array, and with even more familiar orange stripes.

“Oh slag,” Jazz muttered, optics wide behind his visor. “No, no way,” he shook his head. “That can’t be…”

Then the cameraman moved a bit, changing the angle, and more of the mech’s masturbating on camera was revealed. Broad shoulders, and a **chin** that was pretty much unmistakable, even if Jazz hadn’t recognized the moaning voice anyway.

“Yess, yesss, yesssssss!!!!!” the mech moaned aloud as he moved four – slag, four fingers in already? That was a nice spreading valve and… no, no, bad thoughts, Jazz! – digits in and out of himself until with a final shout he stopped abruptly, frame raked by shudders as he overloaded. The camera panned out against between his legs, closing up on the lubricant gushing out of him and between his fingers.

“Ooooh, nice one, Sentinel darling,” a femme giggled. “Think you can handle more?”

Sentinel’s helm – because it was definitely him, Jazz had been right, he thought with a sinking Spark – shot up as he withdrew his lubricant coated fingers out of his valve and leaned on his forearms. “Oh, you bet I do! Bring it on, love,” he purred, and that was such a weird sound coming from prim and proper Sentinel that Jazz’s processor almost shut down on the spot.

The video mercifully cut off, leaving Jazz still staring.

Thoughts were colliding in his CPU, in no specific order.

1) Holy slag, if that was how Sentinel looked like under that panel, no wonder Optimus and he had had a thing going on; for a valve like that, Jazz would probably have put on with some unpleasantness too, somewhat.

2) There were links to multiples videos posted by the same user who had shared **Big Mech Solo: Magic Fingers** , with evocative names such as **Big Mech Solo: Magic Fingers 2** , **Big Mech Solo: Joystick Play 1, 2, 3** , **Up Big Mech’s Aft** , **Big Mech Rides On** , **Bound Big Mech** , and a whole series called **Big Mech & Buddy**, with evocative subtitles such as **All Bothered** , **Sticks Duel** , **Big Mouths Aren’t Just For Speaking** and the likes.

3) If that first video featured Sentinel, what were the chances the others would too? A quick check on image captures showed Jazz that yep, pretty much all of them were about Sentinel having some _happy fun time_ , and was that Optimus too on that video? Sweet Primus, what the hell? 

4) Security breach! Security breach! 

5) Who knew Sentinel had an exhibitionist streak? Jazz certainly didn’t. 

6) Wait a minute, why the Pit was he finding those videos now and who had put them online? 

7) Security breach! Security breach! 

8) Sentinel looked slagging hot with his knees behind his helmfims and a spike pounding his aft; he never knew the mech was so bendy. 

9) Frag, but how come Sentinel, stick in the mud by excellence, could look so hot? 

10) It was dubious Sentinel had put those videos online himself – it would have been like shooting himself in the foot, career wise. 

11) Security breach! Security breach! 

12) Jazz had found them on a pretty general website, but if he dug a little deeper, on how many others would he still find them? A quick browse let him know that some of the **Big Mech & Buddy** series featuring what looked like Optimus was also on HotTrucks, and all of them were apparently on PlowsPlow, which was kinda expected since Sentinel’s base frame was a common models for plows and construction ‘bots. And that was just two, but there was at least two dozen other sites Jazz was certain he could also find them on. 

13) He needed to talk to someone about the videos, and fast, because… Because! 

14) Ultra Magnus’ right hand mech and current head of the Elite Guard caught on tape masturbating or fragging (or getting fragged, mostly) for anybot with a connection to the Grid to see was shaping up like a big, fat scandal, the kind of which Jazz hadn’t seen since that affair between Powered Convoy Magnus and his Secretary when he had just been a newcomer to the Guard (and which had kinda hastened the end of PC Magnus’ term, even more so than the whole worsening climate between Autobots and Decepticons). 

15) He was going to have to tell Ultra Magnus and most likely Sentinel too and Optimus as well, since the mech was on tape too. 

16) It was going to be a slagstorm of epic proportion if handled incorrectly. 

17) He wasn’t paid enough for that slag. 

18) He needed a fragging drink right now. 

And, walking to the small, discreet bar stashed behind a panel in the corner in which he kept two cans of oil, a Dr Paradron’s bottle and a cube of high grade for emergency, he did just that. 

Then, reluctantly, he commed Ultra Magnus. 

::Sir. Sorry to bother you, but it’s kinda important.:: 

::Agent Jazz. What’s going on?:: 

Jazz grimaced – and, realizing his panel was still open, snapped it shut before he forgot completely. Better not go outside and accidentally flash the human protoform, else Optimus and his team might kill him. :: Well, Sir, I’m not sure how to put it but… We got a problem.:: 

::Of what nature exactly, Jazz?:: Ultra Magnus didn’t sound impressed, and Jazz gathered he would be even less so once he said his piece, but… there was no avoiding that. 

So… better to face the music now and hope for the best. 

:: Weeeeeellll, it’s kinda funny but not funny, and… You remember once how I once said Sentinel looked great for the camera? Turn out that we may not have been completely wrong about that…:: 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

As far as Optimus had been concerned, the day had started normally. He had woken up to the sound of Bulkhead crushing something, as per usual (though he was relieved to discover it had been on purpose for his ‘art’ and not on accident as it tended to happen two times out of three), then had taken his morning ration while watching Bumblebee and Sari play loud, violent video games on TV.

(Why could neither youngsters enjoy quieter games, Optimus had no ideas; it wasn’t as if humans didn’t make them. By curiosity, Optimus had perused through video games catalogues and had learned with interest that many strategy games were available. If he hadn’t been Prime and as such needed to show a good example and if the Elite Guard wasn’t camping in their backyard, he might have politely asked Sari how to order and have them shipped here. Of course, it was assuming he could wrestle the controls and the TV away from the pair, but it was the thought that counted, right?)

As he drunk his energon, Optimus could hear Ratchet curse from the next room over his latest tool malfunction and bemoaned the lack of a proper medbay. His complaints had taken a nosedive since Jazz had gotten him a crate of supplies on the sly, however. That left Prowl, who was glaringly absent, but Optimus paid it no mind. The Cyberninja either took time to do meditations and katas every morning or he got out at dawn to go observe organic species in the park. No matter what he did, Prowl was always back by the time Optimus assigned the team their duties for the day.

Sure enough, Prowl arrived just as Optimus called for their mandatory meeting, slipping between Ratchet and Bulkhead without a care in the world.

But by then, Optimus had the sneaky feeling the day wasn’t going to be quite normal.

After all, normal days didn’t involve a short, tense message from _Ultra Magnus_ of all mechs to come onboard his ship as soon as possible with his whole team.

Knots were forming in Optimus’ tank as he worriedly wondered what was going on. Had there been an attack on Cybertron? Were they being recalled from Earth, despite the obvious Decepticon presence? Or had something happened on the ship itself, needing their expertise to repair? Sure, they were first and foremost Space Bridges technicians, but repair crews could technically handle any issue – they were formed for that.

He hoped it was the last option; leaving Earth behind would crush his team, Optimus just knew it.

Of course, it could be harmless enough. Like… Sentinel deciding to boss them around by having them clean and decontaminate the ship with buckets and brushes? The other Prime had certainly threatened to do so under his breath the last time Bulkhead had come back from patrol with mud on his pedes.

It didn’t fit, though, because the message had come from the Magnus, not Sentinel…

The knots in Optimus’ tank tightened.

“Right,” he said, coughing to hide his trouble and acknowledging Prowl’s presence with a nod. “As I was saying, we have been requested to come onboard the Steelhaven as soon as possible. All of us,” he added with a frown, seeing Bumblebee pull a face. Obviously, the little yellow mech had hoped skipping visiting the Guard today. For someone who professed wanting to join, Bumblebee seemed very reluctant to…

Oh, wait. Silly Optimus; Jazz might be an alright sort of ‘bot, but Ultra Magnus was intimidating and Sentinel… Optimus wasn’t certain, because neither Bulkhead nor Bumblebee were speaking, but he suspected he wasn’t the only member of his team who had an history with the other Prime. Given Bumblebee and Bulkhead’s age and Sentinel’s career, it was probably linked to Boot Camp.

(When he finally gathered his courage and asked, he spent the whole evening laughing his head off. Then he sobered, patted his mechs awkwardly on the shoulder and said it wasn’t their fault. The crushing hug he received in turn was sudden and painful but very welcome.)

“You’re sure it’s not some kind of trap and they’re not going to take off the moment you’re onboard?’ Sari asked worriedly. Optimus forced himself to smile to reassure her.

“Of course not, Sari. If Ultra Magnus orders our withdrawal, then he’ll be clear about it. It’s probably nothing.”

“Probably, he says,” Ratchet grumbled, arms crossed over his chest. “But you’re not certain.”

Optimus hesitated briefly before opting for honestly. “No,” he admitted. “I just know we have been asked to head off for the Steelhaven as soon as possible. Those are our orders, and we will follow them, like…”

“If he says ‘cogs in the great Autobot machinery’, I swear I will scream,” Bumblebee mumbled at Bulkhead’s audio, only for the big green mech to shush him and Optimus to glare at him; Bumblebee wasn’t nearly as discreet as he thought he was.

“Nevermind,” Optimus snapped. “We have been given an order. So Autobots, transform and roll out!”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

From the moment he had met Sentinel in Boot Camp under the tutelage of Kup Minor, Optimus had often seen his old friend upset. Over time, he had worked up a scale to measure up just how antsy Sentinel was, using his expression as graduation.

A twitch and lips pulled downward over seeing a Retrorat gnawing on a street corner was barely worth a 1, whereas complete disregard for safety protocols usually was a 2 (though apparently, it had become a 5 during the long stellar cycles where they hadn’t spoken to each other, to Optimus’ complete lack of surprise).

The widening of optics and the flailing around, like the one time Sentinel had discovered nano-fleas had somehow invaded his berth mesh, was a 4 (Elita had looked weirdly uncomfortable about it while Sentinel was spraying disinfectant everywhere, leading Optimus to think the nano-fleas might have been part of one of the experiments for the Sciences Ministry before they escaped confinement).

Anything organic could bring the Sentinel’s Upsetness Scale anywhere between 6 and 8, depending on the nature of the organic (sentient or not sentient) and its potential threat level (which, in Sentinel’s opinion, was always High and Off The Scale). You could recognize the 5 and above levels at the clenching of the jaws, the narrowing of the optics, the disdainful/angry frown and the general way his voice rose.

Humans gathered a reaction somewhere around 6, with some individuals warranting a surprising 4 (like Detroit’s Mayor, because honoring the blue Prime in some way or shape was always a good way to get Sentinel to mellow, even if you were a disgusting organic) while other brought out a 8 (Masterson came to mind after the whole Headmaster debacle and, strangely enough, Sari; perhaps because she was hanging too much around Optimus and his team when the rest of the humans were content to stay at a distance, most of the time).

Archa Seven had always been a 10 in Optimus’ mind since the day of his trial, when Sentinel had stood at attention to give testimony, and when the judges had decided there was no point in trying to recover Elita’s frame. Never before had Sentinel wore that expression before and Optimus doubted Sentinel wore it again before he learned about Elita One’s true fate.

A 10 was rare, special, and warranted caution. It was the Ultimate Ladder of the Scale.

Or at least it had been until Optimus boarded the Steelhaven and saw Sentinel looking at him from the ramp. His optics were blow wide, white with energy surcharge, the kind usually associated with strong emotional reaction. His whole frame was shuddering, his jaw so clenched Optimus could hear the dental plates grind from dozens of meters away. Sentinel’s fists were clenching and unclenching rapidly while his shoulders’ joints seemed locked, making him stand square. And the expression he wore… It wasn’t quite despair. It wasn’t quite rage either. It sat between the two, a sort of powerlessness that gnawed at circuits and weighted on your Spark and CPU because **something** really bad had happened and you couldn’t do anything about it.

Watching Sentinel stroll toward him, Optimus mentally amended himself; someway, somehow, it was possible to go past 10.

The thought was terrifying, because… What could make Sentinel so upset?

“YOU!!!!” the blue mech screamed, pointing a shaky finger at Optimus. Optimus recoiled, not only because that finger looked like it was going to stab him, but also because he was startled to realize there was cleanser gathering in the corner of Sentinel’s optics. While Cybertronians didn’t leak from their optics like the humans, a similar process could happen to certain mechanism; Optimus had never known Sentinel was one of them.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO ME????!!!!!”

Optimus took another step back. “I don’t…”

“It wasn’t enough for you to humiliate me through the traps of that stupid organic planet, was it?! Noooooooo!!!!” Sentinel continued to advance on him and Optimus felt himself hit the wall as he drew back. Not good, not good, not good, his mind shouted at him. Large hands hit the wall on either side of his head and Sentinel loomed over him, looking like he was going to bawl. “WHY? Why did you do that?”

“Sentinel, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Optimus tried, looking at his old friend in the optics, but Sentinel didn’t seem to hear him. Optimus could seldom remember a time where Sentinel had looked like he truly wanted to punch him, and Archa Seven didn’t count. But right now, in this very moment, the red and blue Prime had the feeling the only thing stopping Sentinel from wrapping his hands around his throat tubing and squeeze or punch his optics out was the hands of Ultra Magnus and Jazz, who had both miraculously appeared behind Sentinel and were now dragging him away.

Good thing they were there too, because Bulkhead and Bumblebee looked ready to defend Optimus and it could have turned ugly very fast.

“Enough, Sentinel Prime,” the Magnus stated. His gaze was cold as he looked first at Sentinel, then at Optimus, making the red and blue mech gulp nervously. Despite having nothing to reproach himself, a look from the Magnus was never a pleasant thing.

“Come on, SP,” Jazz crooned gently, tugging Sentinel away and distracting him just enough for Optimus to gather his wits and duck under Sentinel’s arm.

“Sir,” he said quietly, saluting the Magnus while casting a quick, worried look at the rage/grief shaking Sentinel. “Optimus Prime, reporting for duty.”

The Magnus didn’t immediately say ‘at ease’, which put Optimus on edge. So he wasn’t really surprised when he was pinned with a flat gaze again.

“Optimus Prime. A situation has… arisen, for which Sentinel Prime seems to be convinced you’re the guilty party. Do you have anything to say?”

“Frankly, Sir, I don’t know what I can say when I don’t know what’s going on in the first place,” Optimus replied steadily, starting toward a point slightly left from Ultra Magnus and trying to come with something, anything he could have done recently to upset Sentinel so much.

His optics widened briefly as he considered a possibility. “You’re not Sparked up at least?!” he blurted out, remembering thinking about his old friend anti-sparking protocol during their, uh, ‘romp’ in the berth.

“What? No!” Sentinel shouted, sounding vaguely horrified and despite himself, Optimus let out a sigh of relief. He couldn’t raise a protoform and frankly, Sentinel couldn’t either. Neither of them had the right kind of personality and/or weren’t in the right physical circumstances to take care of a fragile Newspark. Optimus would have done his duty to care for it, sure, but… “You… how can you act so innocent, you…?!”

“Sentinel Prime,” Ultra Magnus said stiffly, and Sentinel fell silent, though he was obviously still boiling with rage. The larger mech was now eyeing Optimus with a speculative frown. “Optimus Prime. Is it truly the only thing you can think of which would have upset Sentinel?”

Optimus hesitated only briefly, trying to recall other incidents. “Well, yes,” he finally admitted. “Captain Fanzone made sure to enforce the ‘no humans in the ship’s perimeter’ on his end, there hasn’t been any rain and no slugs around since last week, we were all decontaminated each time we set a foot on the Steelhaven, Professor Sumdac did excuse himself about that malfunctioning automaton…” he listed off the events which had stood out the most since the arrival of the Elite Guard, Spark sinking when Ultra Magnus’ frown deepened. “Honestly, Sir, those are the only things I can think of from the top of my head,” he finished lamely, eyeing Sentinel briefly. Jazz was patting his shoulder and murmuring things in his audio receptor, probably something soothing because the other Prime was staying silent, albeit still as pissed off as before.

“I see,” the older mech mused, fist tightening around his hammer. “Optimus Prime. When was the last time you, or any member of your team, accessed the Grid?”

Optimus blinked. He hadn’t expected that question. “The Grid, Sir? I… am unsure. We don’t have a connection on the Orion – the long distance connection relays were damaged during the ship’s crash. I don’t think I went online since my last stay on Cybertron, 53 stellar cycles ago. I was collecting archive footages to watch during my down time on the Orion. I don’t know for the others…?” he turned toward his mercifully silent team, looking at Ratchet.

The old medic harrumphed. “One orbital cycle ago, from the Steelhaven’s medbay’s computers. I downloaded the latest issues of the medical newsletters I subscribe to; see if there was anything new I needed to know about.”

“When I was still under Master Yoketron’s tutelage,” Prowl gave a jerky nod. “I left Cybertron soon after the end of the war and haven’t had an occasion or inclination to connect.”

Bulkhead scratched his head. “Uh, last orbital cycle too? I sent a couple of letters to my relatives on Moonbase One? I’m pretty sure it’s archived somewhere on the servers…”

Bumblebee shifted uneasily as all gazes went on him. “Uh, perhaps I kinda did three humans days ago? I just wanted to check if there was any new video games worth getting; I just wanted to show Sari, honest! Please, please, please, tell me I didn’t accidentally get a virus in the system!” the little yellow mech started to panic, and Optimus couldn’t really blame him. If he had… it would be bad. Though it was also doubtful; the Steelhaven was the pride of the float and its systems were top-notch. Any virus trying to latch on its circuits would have been swiftly dealt with.

“The dubious idea of showing Cybertronian technology to an organic asides, no, there is no virus involved,” Ultra Magnus stated, looking unimpressed at Bumblebee’s declarations. He was still frowning, but his expression had eased up somewhat, and he gave Sentinel a pitiful look. “It does seem they are innocent, Sentinel Prime. Their declarations match what the ship and Intelligence were able to track about their online presence.”

“They’re lying!” Sentinel shouted. “One of them… Optimus did…!!”

The shaft of the hammer hit the floor. “Sentinel Prime. I know you’re upset. But unless you have definite, undeniable proof, then Optimus Prime and his team are considered innocent of any wrongdoing.”

Sentinel fell silent and bowed his head. “He’s involved. I know he is.”

“Sir, what is going on?” Optimus blurted out. Whatever was wrong, it must have been serious. They had just been interrogated by the Magnus, for the Allspark’s sake! Not only that, but the Magnus had all but said Intelligence had gone sneaking on their activities! From the look on Ratchet and Prowl’s face, they had caught on too and they weren’t happy about that. It must have reminded them bad memories from the war, during which such practices were practically standard.

And Sentinel… Sentinel wouldn’t even look at him anymore.

Ultra Magnus’ shoulders sagged a little. “Jazz,” he said simply before turning away.

The Cyberninja winced. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll explain. You see, OP, uh… It had come to our attention that… videos of a very sensitive nature… have recently been added to the Grid.”

“Ooooh, it is a spy’s work? Stuff about the Elite Guard’s secrets?” Bumblebee asked, looking somewhere between eager and panicked. “Are we…?”

“No, it’s not about the Elite Guard,” Jazz stated firmly. Then he hesitated. “Well… not really, though you can say that… one member of the Guard is involved. See, someone, uh… released things of a… personal nature about SP here,” he waved vaguely in Sentinel’s direction, biting his lips.

Optimus’s Spark sank. Why did he have such a bad feeling about that? Swallowing dryly, he asked: “What kind of ‘personal nature’ are we talking about here?”

Jazz’s winces became more pronounced. Ultra Magnus, who hadn’t gotten far, visibly sagged. And Sentinel… Sentinel finally looked back up at him with a strange light in his optics. “You can’t guess?”

“I prefer not to,” Optimus replied carefully, though a vague, faint suspicion started to rise in the back of his processor. “Sentinel… Jazz? What kind?” he forced himself to ask.

Jazz hesitated, looked briefly at Sentinel. The big blue mech waved vaguely, seemingly saying ‘I don’t care anymore’ and Jazz bowed his head. “It might be easier to show you. But only you,” he warned, waving a finger in the rest of his team. Bumblebee and Bulkhead sputtered, but Prowl and Ratchet barely twitched. Optimus wondered if they were starting to have the same suspicion as him. Most likely, he decided as he followed Jazz in another room, to a terminal the Cyberninja turned on.

He pressed a finger, then a video started to play.

“Oh,” Optimus finally said with a very small voice about four joors in, staring at the screen without really seeing it, nor really watching the video playing. It was harder to ignore the noises, though; the wet sloshing sounds of a spike pounding into a very, very slick valve, the heavy pants and groans, the shouts of ‘harder’ and ‘faster’ punctuating the video,…

It was harder still to not realize the flash of blue of red as someone slammed into Sentinel from behind were very familiar – the kind of familiar that came from a mirror reflection, much to his mortification -- and that the hand playing with Sentinel’s anterior node while the blue mech was bent over a desk _looked suspiciously like Optimus’ own_.

And it was definitely impossible to ignore Sentinel shouting his name in rapture and the way it made his array heat up under his panel. He swallowed dryly. “So… that kind of ‘personal video’?” he asked with difficulty after coughing and resetting his vocalizer several times, feeling at loss over what to say.

“Yeah,” Jazz sighed, stopping the video – right on a close up of Optimus’ spike buried all the way in Sentinel’s valve. Optimus’ cheeks heated up. “You’ll understand why Sentinel is, uh, twitchy.”

Optimus could only nod dumbly.

Suddenly, he was very, very glad Jazz had insisted that Optimus be the only one to look at the video. He didn’t think he’d have been able to watch his teammates in the optics again if they had seen… Optimus covered his face with his hands. By the Allspark, he had forgotten all about those… those very intimate videos a long time ago. He had never imagined they still existed.  
Well… except two he kept on his personal computer in his quarters on the Orion, far away from snooping youngsters with grabby hands like Bumblebee. Two videos which weren’t this one and two dozens of pictures which, as far as he had known, were all the proofs that had been left of, uh, let’s call it their ‘young, stupid and horny period’. Optimus was certain Sentinel had deleted everything he had managed to get his hands to – and frankly, Optimus would probably had done the same in Sentinel’s situation -- unless of course he had missed… the copies… Optimus… kept…

Which he had, of course, since he never tried to contact Optimus outside of work-related matter following the conclusion of the investigation on the Archa Seven incident, and even that had been sporadic and very business oriented. They certainly never discussed personal subjects or, oh, casually mentioned ‘eh, did you keep a copy of those porn vids we made and can you please make sure they disappear?’.

The red and blue mech swallowed dryly. “Is that why Sentinel thinks **I** released the content of that video on the Grid?’

Jazz gave a brief nod. “That video and almost two dozens more.”

Optimus’ Spark sunk. “In how many of those videos am I exactly?” He couldn’t remember turning that many! Unlike Sentinel, he hadn’t felt overly comfortable posing for the camera, although Sentinel and Elita had always known… how to sweet-talk him… into agreeing…

“Oh no,” he whispered in horror, realization coming to him in a flash. The ‘how’, the **who** , even the _why_ , it all rushed to his CPU and made him feel dizzy.

“… can’t exactly blame him, you know,” Jazz was saying on an apologizing tone. Whatever he had said before, Optimus had completely missed it. “I know you’re not the sort and honestly, those videos have the potential to harm you just as much as Sentinel, but since he’s swearing up and down you’re the only one who could have done it…”

“I’m not,” Optimus replied automatically, CPU still trying to recover from the shock.

“Sure you’re not!” Sentinel’s shout made Optimus jump and turn to look at him. The blue Prime was standing in the doorway, still looking caught between rage and despair and Optimus could faintly make out Ratchet and Bumblebee and Bulkhead’s frames behind him. No sign of Prowl, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t around. “I knew you were scum, Optimus, but to think you’d drag me down like that…! You couldn’t handle the fact I had it all, uh? You had to try and ruin me and ruin the Elite Guard while you were at it! Do you realize just how big the scandal is going to be?!” Sentinel threw his hands in the air in agitation. “It might just cost me my place! There’ll be an investigation! And before I know it, I’ll end up like you, running a team of low-life misfits and rejects!”

“Hey!” barked Bumblebee and Bulkhead.

Optimus squared his shoulders, suddenly angry. Sentinel insulting him was nothing new and while it could hurt, he had learnt to deal with hit. But insulting his team, good mechs he’d trust with his Spark? No, no, he wouldn’t allow for it. “Sentinel Prime! For the last time, I don’t have anything to do with that… that _thing_ ,” he waved vaguely behind him toward the screen (which was still showing that close up, please, Jazz, turn it off). “And neither do my team, so you will leave them out of those accusations of yours!” He took a deep breath, trying to decide which point to address next. Knowing Sentinel, it was better to start with the professional angle. “No matter what poor opinion you have of me and my job as a Maintenance technician, Sentinel, I am just as loyal an Autobot as you and I would never do anything to endanger the standing of the Elite Guard and its members.”

And that story would, because Sentinel was a high-profile member of the Guard, like it or not. He would be recognized. Which explained Ultra Magnus’ sour mood; it was going to be a slag storm of epic proportion.

But Optimus wasn’t to blame for that, and he refused to let Sentinel pin it all on him.

“Besides, Sentinel, you really think I’d put videos of myself in that kind of situation on the Grid?” he added between gritted dental plates. “I have my own reputation to think of, in case you forgot!”

Sentinel sneered, but it didn’t have the same edge as before – perhaps his words were sinking through, after all? “Sure, you do. What kind of reputation a Maintenance ‘bot have to defend?”

“That of a good, reliable worker,” Optimus countered placidly. Which he was, thank you very much. “It may not be as glamorous as yours, but it’s worth something.”

Sentinel twitched. He may not have quite agreed, given his look, but at least he couldn’t find fault Optimus’ argument. Hopefully. Then he had to open his mouth. “As if you were risking it by plastering your private bits all over the Grid! If anything, it should only bring you some attention. Eh, perhaps you wanted to get some fame through it, since you can’t get it in any other way!”

It was petty and stupid and just Sentinel being Sentinel and lashing out because he was angry and scared and he wanted other people to hurt as much as he hurt. Optimus knew that, he understood, just like he had understood when Sentinel started pinning the whole blame on him for Elitat’s disappearance.

If they had been alone, perhaps it wouldn’t have hurt and shocked him so much. But they weren’t alone.

“Eh, mech, that’s going too far,” Jazz warned, moving toward Sentinel with placating gestures and a hard frown on his face.

“‘Private bits’?” Bulkhead asked, scratching his head, while Ratchet cursed under his breath and tried to shove past the bigger mech – potentially to whack Sentinel over the head, Prime or not. The old medic wasn’t afraid of insubordination.

And that did it for Optimus.

He hadn’t wanted to say to Sentinel what he had understood, because he knew it would hurt him.

Both of them had loved Elita, but Sentinel had been head over heel struts for her. That was why they had turned those videos in the first place: because Elita had wanted to watch them frag each other, finding it hot. And of course they had indulged her because, where had been the harm? They did solo, and duo, and threesomes, and they watched it together on off nights to ‘get into the mood’. It had all been in good fun and it was supposed to stay private, just between the three of them.

And it had.

Until Elita One – or rather, Blackarachnia – decided to release them to the public.

Optimus should have waited until they were alone.

Instead, he blew.

“Damnit, Sentinel!” Optimus snapped. “Think for a moment! Who turned those videos of us together and likely kept a copy of them all AND also had a grudge against us both, especially since the last time we saw her?! **I** certainly had no interest in releasing that video,” he showed the screen again with a jerky move, “and if you really want to know, it’s not one of those **I** kept. But if you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to just hack my computer. Oh, but perhaps you already asked Intelligence to,” he added sarcastically. Because he wouldn’t put it past Sentinel if he was in a foul enough mood.

And he immediately regretted speaking.

For a moment, it felt like Sentinel had gotten thunderstruck. His mouth fell open and his optics widened. He started to shakily raise a finger while shaking his head, trying to deny it all. It wasn’t as bad as the face he had made when Optimus had boarded the Steelhaven, but it was still well beyond 10 on the Scale of Upsetness, and it made Optimus feel vaguely guilty.

However, it needed to be said, he reminded himself. He couldn’t keep shouldering Sentinel’s baseless accusations, and they both needed to face the truth, as painful as it was.

They had… Slag, they were fragging again after all that time, even if it was nothing like what they had before and more closely resembled a form of ‘hate sex’, but still. Their relationship was still better than it had been and even if it would never be fully repaired, would never be the same again, Optimus had had hope perhaps, just perhaps they could make peace.

Blackarachnia’s trick had probably buried any chance for that, he thought bitterly.

He felt… betrayed, knowing she had put intimate videos of him on the Grid (though his were more discreet than Sentinel’s, as he later found out).

And it was worse for Sentinel.

He looked… crushed.

In the end, his finger fell back. He stared in front of him for a long while in perfect silence before turning on his heels and shouldering past Optimus’ team on his way out without a word.  
“SP!” Jazz exclaimed, ready to follow him, only to be stopped by Optimus’ hand on his wrist.

“Leave him alone for now, Jazz. It… needs to sink in,” the red and blue mech said quietly.

“What need to sink in exactly? Who were you talking about there, Optimus Prime?” the black and white Cyberninja asked, head cocked to the side. He didn’t look very happy and Optimus hesitated. Had Sentinel shared the story of Blackarachnia’s true identity yet with Jazz and Ultra Magnus? Would they be unhappy with him for not mentioning it earlier? Either way, it wasn’t a conversation he was eager to have.

Of course it was also the moment his team chose to make their way in the room, even Prowl who had somehow managed to hide himself until now.

“Hey, is that porn?” Bumblebee asked when he caught sight of the screen and the still visible close up of Optimus’ spike in Sentinel’s valve – and there were just enough details for a fast processor to draw up the identity of both participants. Ratchet certainly looked like he had swallowed a whole Lead-Lemon.

Optimus facepalmed and groaned.

Make that _two_ conversations he wasn’t eager to have.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“Oh, hey Optimus,” Jazz muttered as he rose his head to look at the ‘bot who was making his way toward him. The Prime was moving slowly but given how the corridor was empty, any step tended to resonate. Jazz wondered briefly if Optimus wasn’t doing it on purpose; the mech was no Cyberninja for sure, but surely he had gotten some training at the Academy to learn and muffle his steps? Granted, trying to be silent and sneak on a Cyberninja tended to fall under the category of ‘Very, Very Bad Idea’; Jazz had already (accidentally) stabbed mechs for that, when he had been a little too high-strung.

“Jazz,” Optimus acknowledged with a nod before turning his attention to the door Jazz was ‘guarding’ – meaning, leaning on the wall next to while waiting for something to happen. Which, much to Jazz’s frustration, wasn’t happening.

Optimus looked worried, balancing his weight from a foot to the other. “He’s still not answering hails, then?”

“Nope,” Jazz confirmed with a grimace. “I’m still sending him messages every 20 joors, but no answer yet, no acknowledgement whatsoever. Same thing when I hit on the door,” he added, rattling his fist on the sturdy metal.

It was so fragged up, he thought dejectedly. Sure, it was bad, but really, Sentinel couldn’t keep hiding away in his quarters like a Sparkling having a tantrum.

… Okay, bad comparison, he thought ruefully. Jazz couldn’t blame Sentinel for wanting to hide away for a bit; if amateur porn in which he featured had hit the Grid, he’d probably do the same. BUT Jazz also liked to think he was professional enough to want and emerge from his quarters after a few cycles to calm up, answer Ultra Magnus’ hails and go back to his duties as well as he could. Probably.

Given how rigid Sentinel was about duty and rules and protocols, Jazz had really thought he could.

Only, nope, that wasn’t what the blue Prime had done. Instead of bouncing back, the younger mech had locked himself in his quarters and refused to acknowledge messages through his comm. unit, through his quarters’ messaging systems or anyone who came and knocked at the door and tried to motivate him to get out. He was even refusing to acknowledge **Ultra Magnus** himself, and that was the biggest shock of them all – and it really showed how bad things must been in Sentinel’s processor.

Normally, for his insubordination, the Magnus would have already took sanctions – threats of demotion, of having a black mark on his files, extra duty shifts, cleaning up the washracks’ floor with a detail brush, training session from the Pit with ex-Wreckers,… the work. And that was AFTER he used his hammer to destroy the offending door and drag Sentinel out for a stern talking-to/dressing down, shake him up and potentially sent his aft in the brig.

Only, Ultra Magnus was showing a lot of reluctance to do so, which Jazz perfectly understood. Sentinel’s reputation and career had just taken a serious hit already, so it was likely the blue mech wasn’t (yet) in any state to really care. Plus, as weird as it was, Ultra Magnus appreciated Sentinel (or at least his diligence and usual work ethic, which consisted of work, work, work and work some more; his personality was less of a hit, though Ultra seemed under the impression Sentinel could grow into a better ‘bot); as such, he probably didn’t want to rough him up too much.

That said, it was clear the Big Boss was getting concerned and if he hadn’t yet ordered Jazz to use his talents to break into Sentinel’s room, then it was only a matter of time before he did. Jazz already had his tools prepared; he just needed a confirmation he was allowed to use them. Mind you, he could have already, but breaking into the place of your CO just because you were growing concerned for him wouldn’t fly well with Internal Affairs if Sentinel decided to press charges (which there was always a chance of, if he was feeling up to it).

So… It was turning into a waiting game. Jazz stood vigil at the door, both to try and reason Sentinel and to keep curious mechs away (nope, I’m absolutely not looking at you Bumblebee, nor at your over-eager organic buddy), while Optimus’ crew got requisitioned to fill duties on the Steelhaven and cover for the ‘incapacitated’ crew members. Sentinel did… whatever he was doing, brooding, crying, weeping perhaps (and the thought of it was making Jazz very, very uneasy; the only thing he was glad about was that there was no weapon of any kind in Sentinel’s room, so there was no risk of an… ‘accident’), and they could only wait on him.

Last he had heard, Ratchet was starting to consider using his authority as a medic to authorize a raid, quoting medical concerns, though it had yet to be enforced.

However, it looked like Optimus Prime had decided it was time to stop waiting.

The red and blue mech’s shoulders sagged. “I see. I suppose there is no choice, then.”

Jazz shifted, humming. “You’re under orders then?” Which would make sense, Ultra Magnus would have…

Optimus gave him a look. “I don’t need orders to check on a friend, Jazz.”

Oh. “Right,” Jazz replied, rubbing the back of his helm in embarrassment before standing straighter. “You know you can’t force your way in; friend or not, it’d be illegal without backing up from proper authorities, so unless Magnus or Ratchet decided to give you the go-ahead…” he warned.

Optimus gave a humorless chuckle. “Oh, trust me Jazz, I won’t need to force my way in.”

He leaned over the keypad next to the door, his back turned to Jazz. The Cyberninja couldn’t see what he entered, but sure enough, the tell-tale sounds of locks opening followed just after a last key was pressed.

Jazz’s jaw dropped slightly open. “How?” Because slag, Sentinel wasn’t giving his access codes to anyone, period!

Optimus smiled bitterly as he looked at him. “I suppose you could call that the privilege of being old friends,” he just said, opening the door – and closing it right behind him, just in Jazz’s face.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

It was nice to know that despite all that time, there were some things about Sentinel which hadn’t changed.

Well, nice… it depended on the way you looked at it.

Optimus had acted on a hunch more than anything but, as he had suspected, his hunch had been correct. Several thousands stellar cycles, and Sentinel was still using ‘Broken Lance’ as an emergency codeword and password for his quarters.

It was just as well, because Optimus didn’t know what in the Pit he would have done if the password had been refused. Perhaps taken his axe and brought down the door, consequences be damned. He already was near the bottom of the Autobot’s Great Machine, so what else could they do to him?

Fortunately, he didn’t have to dwell on ‘might be’. Now, he just needed to make sure Sentinel was okay, or relatively so.

Cautiously, he made his way inside, taking note of the fact it was, as per Sentinel’s standard, entirely clean. No speck of dust anywhere.

Even the empty cubes of energon the other Prime must have drunk to try and get wasted were all on the table, in hazy piles but intact. There wasn’t even a spot of fluid on the table, so wasted or not, Sentinel had obviously cleaned up behind him. Actually, Optimus could make out a rag with dirty spots half-tugged into an otherwise empty cube.

Optimus winced as he mentally counted them. Officers were allowed to keep a few cubes in their quarters when they didn’t have their personal refueling station, just in case they worked too late on reports and couldn’t make it to the Rec Room to refuel and socialize with the crew, but ‘a few’ didn’t fix a limit on how many, nor on the quality of the brew. Knowing Sentinel, there probably had been little high grade among the stock, but even mid-grade in big quantity could bring up quite the buzz and make you feel drunk.

Judging by the leftovers, which had gone a cleared pink indicating it was stall by now, the consummation had happened a while ago, probably just after Sentinel had taken to lock himself in so hopefully, he wasn’t drunk anymore and the headache he’d have developed when his systems cleared would have receded. It’d make him more likely to listen, with any luck.

No one in the main ‘living’ area, so Optimus passed his head into the open door leading to the ‘recharge corner’ of the quarters, in truth just a small square half-room barely big enough to hold a berth and a low table next to it.

Sure enough, Sentinel was there, lying on his back and optics staring emptily at the ceiling, an arm behind his head to serve as makeshift pillow – the real one was lying on the floor, probably thrown at some point in a fit of rage.

Optimus crouched down to pick it and cleared his vocalizer. “May I come in?” he asked politely, waiting for Sentinel to acknowledge him. It took a while, but blurred blue optics finally stopped to watch the ceiling to focus on him instead.

“How did you enter?” Sentinel asked, and his voice was slightly slurry. Not in the slurry way it usually did when Sentinel had a cube too many, but the slurry way it used to when the two (three) of them used to stay up all ‘night’ without recharging to review textbooks for the exams. Visibly, Sentinel hadn’t slept in a while.

Despite himself, Optimus felt a surge of pity go through his Spark. “Broken Lance,” he just said, not moving until he knew he could. When he was high-strung, Sentinel could be… unreasonable.

(When he was calm too, of course, but that was another story altogether.)

Slowly, Sentinel stretched and sat, using the wall to steady himself and surrounding his knees with his arms after making a vague gesture at Optimus to just move. The red and blue mech gingerly sat on the other end of the berth, putting the pillow behind him. The foam mattress (one of those perks of being Elite Guard, Optimus guessed) sunk under his weight.

They both stayed silent for a long moment, Sentinel obviously not in a hurry to speak up and Optimus patiently waiting for him to.

There was a guideline he and Elita had come up with on how to take care of an upset Sentinel, once upon a time, and the first rule was, stay silent until HE starts the conversation, then he can’t complain YOU launched the subject.

“… did they manage to remove the videos?” Sentinel asked at long last, making Optimus’ shoulders sag slightly in relief.

“I know inquiries have started,” Optimus cautiously started, “but from what I’ve been said, you will need to personally contact the hosting services to have them removed.”

Sentinel’s face blanched. “Me? That I contact those…?!” he sputtered, apparently not coming up with a word strong enough to describe what he thought of porn hubs hosts. Quite ironic, Optimus thought bitterly, because he used to quite love it once upon a time. But of course, back then, it wasn’t his face and private bits plastered on them.

“You’re the…” Optimus started. He almost said ‘victim’, but if he did, Sentinel would blow up, he just knew that. “You’re the incriminated party,” he said instead. “Those pictures and videos have been put on without your consent, but you must testify it was indeed the case before they all agree to take them down. At least that’s what I understood from the call Ultra Magnus received from Cybertron,” he added carefully.

Sentinel’s hide his face in one hand. “Slag,” he muttered, rubbing at his forehead and pinching the bridge of his olfactive sensor. “I have no choice, haven’t I?”

“Not if you want them taken down fast,” Optimus confirmed. He was hesitant to add the next part, but… “However, it can only be done on Cybertron itself. The, uh, ‘hosts’ won’t content themselves with a simple letter or long distance call; they want to make sure of your identity…”

“Why? To humiliate myself more?” Sentinel asked morosely.

Optimus sighed. “More likely they mean it as an anti-identity thievery measure. It’s even part of the law. I do agree it’s fragged up, though.”

Sentinel harrumphed.

The silent stretched again between them. “… Is Ultra Magnus furious with me?” the big-chinned mech finally asked after another pause.

Optimus made a vague gesture with his hand. “He’s not happy,” he acknowledged, because there was no point in lying about that. Sentinel already knew the Magnus was unhappy anyway, he just wanted a confirmation of how bad it truly was. “Though he seems willing to chalk most of your… behavior up to shock. If you immediately propose to willingly go and see a therapist and quote the proper regulations for emotional compromised personnels, you might just avoid severe sanctions.”

Sentinel’s chin wobbled. “You truly think so?” he sounded like he desperately wanted to believe it, but without actually doing so. The problem was, Optimus wasn’t so certain himself, so he couldn’t fully reassure him.

“I want to believe it,” Optimus answered truthfully, “but the only way to know for sure is if you go and see Ultra Magnus, preferably before the end of the day.”

“… not much of a choice, uh?” Sentinel muttered, looking down at himself with a frown. “I need to make myself presentable.”

Optimus just nodded. Truthfully, the obvious lack of recharge asides, he didn’t think Sentinel needed more than a touch-up. Of course, his criteria had always been laxer than Sentinel’s owns.

Big limbs unfolded and Sentinel swept his legs over the edge of the berth; he didn’t rise, however, just let his legs swing as he looked at his pedes.

“How?” he finally asked THE question Optimus had been dreading, THE question he knew they both needed to address before anything else (not that Ultra Magnus and the removal of the videos and pictures weren’t important subjects either, of course, but they weren’t as loaded as the **how** everything had happened in the first place). “How could she does that to me?!”

He sounded both desperate and furious, though the pain was winning for now.

There was no avoiding it, though.

Optimus sighed and gave him a look. “Sentinel, you basically told her she would be better off dead AND you tried to kill her yourself. What did you think she would do? Elita…” he hesitated. Slag, it was so messed up. It was exactly WHY he hadn’t wanted to tell Sentinel she had survived at first. Sentinel’s hatred for organics, Blackarachnia’s schemes to purge herself of her organic half and what she was willing to do… Of course he knew Sentinel would take it badly; Optimus had just hoped it wouldn’t be THAT badly. Of course it had been a fool’s hope, of course…

“She was a lot of things,” he finally said, “and as much as I try not to dwell on it, we both knew she always was the revengeful type,” he sighed.

Sentinel stayed quiet for a moment before looking at the other mech with optics narrowed in suspicion. “How do you know about… what I said? You weren’t there!”

Optimus pinched the bridge of his olfactive sensor. Did Sentinel truly have to ask? “You submitted a report, remember? Which, as per protocol upon meeting an acknowledged Decepticon, included an _audio record_ of your exchange with them so command can be certain of your loyalty and trustfulness.”

It was a war-born policy, one which High Command had never saw fit to cancel for the Elite Guard. Optimus, as leader of a repair team, didn’t have to abide by it, but Sentinel had to.

Sentinel’s shoulders sunk as he remembered that tidbit. “Oh. Right,” he mumbled before flopping on his berth, legs and arms spread. He was silent for a moment before opening his mouth again, making Optimus wince. “I stand by what I said, you know. She should have died then.”

“Sentinel! It’s our friend you’re talking about!” Optimus snapped.

“No it’s not!” Sentinel snapped back. “Elita One died vorns ago; whatever that thing is, it’s not her! Elita would never have… You know,” he trailed off, waving his fingers. “Turn a mech into another monster just to see if she could reverse the process. Try to kill me. Us,” he added with a sour look. “Become a Decepticon.”

“Yeah, well, she did,” Optimus groused, shifting uneasily. He liked to think there was still goodness in his old friend and sometimes he saw it more clearly than others, but Blackarachnia rarely bothered with scruples, he was forced to admit that much. “That and many other things.” Things he preferred not to tell Sentinel about aloud. If the mech truly wanted to know, he was welcome to read the proper records Optimus had turned in. Besides, he didn’t think Sentinel would be very impressed if he told him he understood Blackarchnia’s choice to join forces with Megatron, kinda. She had been alone, unable to go back to Cybertron in her current form least she became a lab rat or worse, and she had been so freaked out and angry. In her place, what would Optimus had done himself?

If he ever breathed a word of it, he was certain would put him in stasis cuffs, and not for fun, so he held his glossa. “Perhaps we just didn’t know her as much as we both thought we did,” he allowed himself to say, perhaps a bit more sharply than he had hoped, but Sentinel didn’t call him out on that.

If anything, he seemed to agree with the feeling.

“Clearly,” he replied waspishly. Sentinel’s optics were fixated on the ceiling as he clenched and unclenched his fists. “How could she do that to me? How?” he repeated himself.

Aaand they were back to the issue at hand, Optimus thought. “Humans have a saying: Hell has no fury like a woman scorned,” he said as diplomatically as possible. “Yes, I know, we shouldn’t be quoting organics and it doesn’t relate to us,” he added quickly, cutting off Sentinel’s rant before it even began. “But I found the quote appropriate enough in its feeling. Basically, it means there is nothing quite has fearsome as a female human who is angry over something you’ve done to her. If you replace ‘female organic’ by ‘femme’, well, it’s not exactly wrong either, is it? You angered her, so she thought of a way to avenge herself and… she chooses a way she knew would hurt you,” he finished lamely.

Sentinel hummed noncommittally. As much as it hurt him and his pride to see wisdom in an organic saying, he couldn’t deny it rang true. Just like it rung true to hear Elita had done… _that_ because she knew it would damage everything he had done with his life.

Thus why pictures and videos of his intimate bits were plastered on Cybertron and the Autobot Commonwealth’s largest porn hubs and watched and downloaded by every pervert on that side of the galaxy right now. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to change it at this very moment either, he thought tiredly as he slide a hand over his face.

Sure, he could go and politely ask the host sites to remove all incriminating content and if they didn’t immediately comply, he could ask for a court order and even sue the incriminated sites but by now, copies would be circulating everywhere, shared by perverts who would – ugh! – touch themselves while watching them, call him lewd things and think he was some kind of easy mech – which he absolutely wasn’t!

By the Allspark, his reputation was ruined, he thought not for the first time since Jazz had first hit the ‘play’ button and showed him that first glimpse of himself on screen. It didn’t make the sinking feeling in his Spark go away, however. He had already realized the ramifications the moment Jazz warned him about the very first pictures, but now it was coming back to him again in full force. All of his hard work since he had left the Academy, his impeccable record (well, minus the black spot of the Archa Seven expedition, which was mentioned even if he had been ruled blameless by the Court), his achievement in the Elite Guard,… all of it was now torn to pieces.

No, his reputation was never, ever going to recover from that. And just when he had been so close to become the next Magnus too! Slag, if anything happened to Ultra Magnus right now, would those decrepit mechs of the Guilds even accept Sentinel’s nomination as Acting Magnus if they saw those pictures?

(Even without the scandal at hand, it must be noted that the Guilds would have been reluctant to consider Sentinel Prime as a worthy successor to Ultra Magnus. His personality hadn’t endeared him to many people outside the Guard, where many veterans shared a similar mindset when it came to defense and Decepticons.)

Oh, why, why had he ever let Elita (and Optimus) record anything of their trysts?

Because she had wanted to and Sentinel had been weak and eager to please her, a small voice whispered in the back of his CPU. Plus, and he refused to acknowledge it aloud, part of him had been a little excited by the experience too. Just a bit. But all they had done, all that had been filmed, all the snapshots for which he had paused… those had been supposed to stay private. _Private!_

There was a reason as to why he had tried to get rid of all of them the moment he had been able to, and it unsettled him to realize just how many he had missed – and how many he had allowed Elita One to film.

At least Optimus never fathomed the idea of releasing his own share of naughty pictures to the general public. It made Sentinel suddenly very grateful that his old (former) friend wasn’t bitter and spiteful enough to do something so… so vile!

… and he was in those porn vids too, wasn’t he? “You’re going to see them removed as well? Those videos where you’re in?” Sentinel asked with a grunt when Optimus looked at him uncomprehendingly.

“Oh! Oh,” the red and blue mech winced, as if it was only hitting him now. Which may have been the case; Optimus could be a little slow about that kind of things.

(In this case, it wasn’t due to any ‘slowness’ of processor, but more about the fact Optimus had been focused on Sentinel first. Besides, after some intent and very embarrassing browsing on the porn hub with at least one member of his team always hovering behind him, the red and blue mech had discovered, much to his relief, that there were no pictures of him posted and his only apparitions were limited to the videos he shared with Sentinel. Wherever it was because Blackarachnia hadn’t conserved more of his pictures and videos or because she was still feeling a modicum of respect and perhaps camaraderie for him, he had no idea, but it made Optimus grateful.)

(It didn’t cross his mind she could have just been bidding her time before posting them – or handing them to people who’d be very, very interested by them.)

(Nothing revved up a Decepticon like a small-sized mech who had the guts to stand up to them.)

(Yes, it was really better for Optimus not to know about that.)

“Y… Yes, I should see to that, too,” he rubbed his head embarrassingly, cheeks flushed. “Mind if we file a double complaint?” he proposed awkwardly.

Sentinel waved. “Eh. Might be easier that way,” he acknowledged. Not that anything about the situation would ever be easy to swallow or deal with. However, his Spark felt a little lighter knowing Optimus was going to be dealing with (part of) the same problem.

Shared misery was always good in his opinion – especially when the misery was his to begin with.

Just for that, he felt willing to rise up and leave that room and perhaps, just perhaps go back to his duty. He… he needed to do it. To work. Take his mind off things until they left that dump of an organic planet behind (until they left _Elita One_ or whatever that thing called herself now behind) and went back to Cybertron. There he’d be able to properly deal with the problem (and being forced to do it face to face was a load of slag! He hoped Optimus had understood it wrong, wouldn’t be the first time, but if he hadn’t… Anyway, it was unfair! ‘Part of the law”, Sentinel’s shiny aft! The Elite Guard shouldn’t have had to bow to civilian law!)

Of course, he first needed to face Ultra Magnus, Sentinel reminded himself with a wince, and face off any and all punitions the old mech would deem necessary. Sentinel’s conduct had truly been unqualifiable, hadn’t it? He himself would have had the helm of anyone who committed such a fault on a plate.

Hopefully the Magnus would be more lenient? Pit, Sentinel hoped so. Optimus had indicated that the old mech was willing to chalk up part of Sentinel’s recent behavior to shock, but just how much would it cover? Plus, how long would Ultra Magnus be willing to keep him in his current position, considering the scandal? And just how much could he get demoted if it came to that?

… Pit.

Swallowing, he tried to ask casually. “I don’t suppose there is a free spot on your team?”

Optimus blinked. “No, you know we’re usually limited to fiv… Oh, Pit!” the other mech exclaimed. “No, no, no, don’t go there; you won’t end up in a repair team and if you do, it certainly won’t be mine,” he warned Sentinel, pointing a digit at him – which was rude as the Pit, but Sentinel let it slide, too relieved to care.

“Of course not,” Sentinel commented hauntingly, a small smirk on his lips, the first he had had in solar cycles. “I have too many qualifications to end up doing simple maintenance duty.”

“I suspect you skipped a lecture or two on Maintenance, or you would never call it ‘simple’,” Optimus replied dryly. Then his optics softened. “Joke asides, if… if worse comes to shove, I doubt they’d assign you to Space Bridge Maintenance. You know too much stuff about the Guard to be assigned out of Cybertron.”

“… I suppose I should consider it as a consolation,” Sentinel said after a moment of reflection. Part of him wanted to snap at Optimus, but the other part acknowledged it was probably Optimus’ way of reassuring him. It was clumsy, but he understood the feeling. “Just as well. I can’t see us working together on the same team without trying to kill each other,” he joked.

It fell a bit flat, but Optimus still chuckled. “Very true. That, or…” he glanced at the berth they were both sitting on and coughed awkwardly.

Well, yeah. That too, Sentinel mentally acknowledged, cheeks just as hot as Optimus as he thought about what they had done not so long ago on this very berth. The flush died down quickly though. “I don’t think I want to hear about interfacing for a while,” he said flatly.

Optimus nodded. “Yeah. Me neither. Though my teammates might not let me forget about it anytime soon.” He made a grimace and Sentinel chortled.

“Oh the horror!”

“You can joke,” Optimus pointed out sternly. “I’m sure the Guard has its share of young, eager recruits who won’t be able to look at you quite the same way anymore.”

Sentinel glared, suddenly a lot less amused. “You had to point it out, hadn’t you?”

Optimus just smirked in turn. “I’m just returning the favor,” he said as he got up and, surprisingly, offered Sentinel a hand. “Ready to face the world?”

Sentinel stared at the offered hand for a moment before shrugging and taking it. “I suppose I have to. Uh,” he added, glancing at himself. “Once I’m reasonably clean, that’s it. Shower first, and facing Ultra Magnus right after,” he squared his shoulders. “Sounds like a plan, right?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Optimus acknowledged, sitting back to wait.

A couple more joors couldn’t hurt so long he managed to get Sentinel out of here and on his way to see Ultra Magnus, he thought as Sentinel disappeared in the small private washracks adjacent to the ‘berthroom’.

Sighing, he let himself relax.

Whatever lied ahead, Optimus thought, he felt reassured in Sentinel’s (and his) ability to face it. Mostly.

It’d probably be rocky, there’d probably shouts and accusations and tears and nights spent without recharging, overthinking about ‘what if’ and other nights spent downing high-grade like there was no tomorrow to hide the pain and the misery and there’d probably be a therapist or two involved, but they could do it.

They had to.

And hopefully, they’d manage without killing each other.


End file.
